


What are friends for?

by Nicknacks22



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Teleportation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:18:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicknacks22/pseuds/Nicknacks22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott can teleport. Stiles is a little bit jealous. Researching turns to looking at porn, and Stiles gets caught with his pants down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What are friends for?

Stiles is a little bit jealous. Okay, maybe a lot a bit jealous. 

Somehow his best friend, who already got the cool werewolf powers, has now figured out how to teleport. Fricking teleport! Like, where does that even come from?

Ever since Scott had managed to beam himself from the school steps straight into the Jeep, with no regard for who might see mind you, Stiles had been obsessively searching the internet, trying to figure out how it’s even possible. And, if he’s honest, whether or not he can learn to do it too.

Because really, how cool would that be? The answer is the absolute coolest.

If he could teleport he could go anywhere in the world, see anything he wanted to see. The Eifel Tower, the White House, Playboy Mansion, anything he wanted. It would be incredible.

But no, he’s still just plain old Stiles. No super-werewolf senses or strength, no relationship, and definitely no teleportation.

All he has is Google, and even that isn’t doing much for him right now. Teleportation information wise, that is.

Regardless of his horrible luck in the super power department, Stiles does have pretty excellent luck in the ad department. It seems like every time he cracks open the ole search engine a picture of a hot guy in barely-there underwear is chilling out on his sidebar, either soaking wet or sprawled out on a nice car usually.

Today’s model is tan, maybe Mediterranean, with bright green eyes and abs worth crying over. Not to mention the bulge in the dark purple 2xist briefs that is aggressively trying to catch his attention. And why not let it, he figures. It isn’t like he’s getting much else done at the moment, so he clicks the picture, letting it direct his browser to the main site, where countless pictures of increasingly hot men in increasingly skimpier undies await him.

His jeans start to feel a little tight as his hand wanders down and his dick begins to harden. The Sheriff is at work, and he has nowhere else to go, so he quickly undoes his belt, slipping off the pants and shucking his underwear too.

Settling on a picture with two models playfully grabbing each other’s arms, he leans back into the chair, letting himself relax as he hand slides up and down.

Just as he’s really getting into it, feeling the tingles start at the base of the shaft, there’s a pop and a flash of light.  
“Holy crap, you’ll never guess where I just was!”

Stiles flails, trying to cover himself and the computer screen at the same time, but it’s too much motion for the rickety swivel chair, and he tips it, falling to the floor with a crash and just barely managing to not ram his erection straight into the floor. He breathes in relief, happy that he managed not to mangle his dick, but then he remembers that his best friend is still in his room, and that he has his exposed ass pointing right at them.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mutters as he crawls to the bed, yanking off the covers and covering himself before gathering the courage to look up.

“What the fuck, Scott?” He yells. “You can’t just do that! You do realize that you’ve officially crossed into Derek territory, right? Like major creeper status here.”

It’s then that he realizes that Scott has collapsed onto the floor, shaking in silent laughter with his hands over his mouth and tears in his eyes.  
“I hate you. Oh my god I hate you so much,” Stiles says, burying his face in his hands. It’s worse because his erection still hasn’t gone away, and from what he can tell it isn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

Vaguely, he realizes that Scott has quit laughing, but still he refuses to look up from his hands. There’s a shuffling sound and he knows Scott is now crawling across the floor as well. He feels his presence settle next to him back against the bed, and then an arm drapes across his shoulders.

“Look, Stiles,” Scott says. “I know we’ve been friends for a long time, and it may be hard for you to hear this, but it doesn’t boner uhhh I mean bother me that you’re bi, I mean, we’ve definitely had our strokes of good and bad luck together, so I think we can come through anything alright, but dude, seriously, you’ve got to pick better porn.

Stiles bites the blanket. He will not laugh, he refuses.

“Underwear ads, really? We’re way beyond that man. Do I need to re-introduce you to the wonderful world of the free video site? Because I will, don’t think I won’t.”

“You’re an asshole,” Stiles says, raising his head.

As jealous as he was, and as mortified as he is, it’s impossible to stay mad at Scott.  
“But I’m your asshole!”

“Unfortunate choice of words, my friend.” Stiles shakes his head. Some things never change.

Now that’s he’s recovered from his shock though, Stiles is uncomfortably aware of how warm and heavy Scott’s arm is on his shoulders, and how good he smells pressed so close to him. And all of that combined is pretty counter-productive when one is trying to kill a boner.

It’s funny to him though, that Scott seeing him masturbate has made him this flustered. Scott was the one who had first shown him porn in the first place, and how to masturbate. Stiles still thought about how warm and nice Scott’s hand had felt the few times he had chosen to help Stiles out because “his technique was better,” or something like that. It had stopped when they started high school, but Stiles still wasn’t really sure why, or if they had ever talked about it.

And so, taking a deep breath for courage, Stiles shoves the blanket off. His dick immediately shoots up, standing tall and proud against his stomach, and he immediately thinks that this was a really bad idea.

“Well, okay, hey there buddy.”

And now Stiles is laughing, crying and struggling to stay upright because their relationship makes no sense, and how does Scott exist. Surely, it shouldn’t be possible to be a teleporting werewolf who discovers a friend jerking off and then makes flawless masturbation puns and fucking greets said friend’s rampant penis when said friend stupidly decides to whip it out. It’s unreal. Scott is unreal.

But he’s the best kisser Stiles could ever imagine, and he feels perfectly heavy as he spreads himself out on top of Stiles, mouth trailing down his neck to his collarbone and then back up to capture his lips, sucking and biting and sending Stiles into upward thrusting spasms that are setting his cock on fire.

And then Scott’s hand suddenly slips between their bodies and it is big and warm and rough and just like Stiles remembers it. Three fast, firm strokes and Stiles is coming, moaning into Scott’s mouth and writhing for all he’s worth.

They break apart, both breathing heavily, and it finally hits Stiles what just happened.

“Shit, sorry,” he says, “I sort of ruined your pants.”

“It’s cool,” Scott says, smiling. “I mean, what are friends for?”

And then Scott kisses him again and Stiles could not care less about pants or teleportation or anything for that matter, because his best friend in the world loves him and is a teleporting werewolf, which is pretty fucking cool.


End file.
